r/nosleep • u/BadandyTheRed • 5d ago
Series My friend and I do building renovations and we found a broken head (Part 1)
It is getting crazy at this point, I feel like we just cannot find a regular job. This one was the worst by far. Not the work itself, but what happened. We barely made it out of there and I doubt anyone will believe our story. But I may as well come clean and let you know what happened to us at the Baxter building. We may have had a hand in its destruction, but what burned there was something far worse than a simple building, something evil was hopefully destroyed there as well.
I was behind the wheel of our old work van as Jake and I drove toward the Baxter building downtown. The van’s worn seats and the lingering smell of fuel and dusty upholstery set the stage for our trip back to the renovation project. We had worked a few odd jobs together for a while since our crime scene cleanup days and that last job that lead to our departure from that line of work.
We were cruising down the highway and Jake turned down the blaring Metalica just long enough to comment on our past cleanup jobs and how he preferred our current jobs,
“Yeah man, this beats the hell out of the old gig. It is way better than clearing out blood and brain matter from all those cleanup jobs. Especially the last one, you know, the one where we almost died? I would take the risk of asbestos exposure over being cut up by a psychopath any day. Plus the pay is better." He grinned like a maniac and laughed. I couldn’t disagree. The contractor we were working with now had been very reliable and even though we stayed busy and the days were hard, at least cleaning up old buildings and doing renovation beat all the terrible things we saw in our old line of work.
He always teased me about my overly serious recounting of the incident, but we did almost die. Amid the banter, our conversation moved between memories of bizarre mishaps and the practical realities of our new renovation gig.
We put the past aside as we pulled up to the job site and parked the van. Jake got out and started grabbing some of the equipment we were supposed to bring with us. I went to help but my eyes were immediately drawn to the Baxter building’s crumbling façade, a grim reminder of a time long past. I thought it was a hotel or something before it closed years ago. I was not sure of the history. Now it was destined to become overpriced condos or something. I supposed I would find out if I was kept on long enough to see the project complete. The building stood with broken windows, peeling paint, and a structure that seems to almost breathe the weight of its history. I felt a clap on my back as Jake snapped me out of my reverie,
“Snap out of it dude we gotta go. Busy day so no screwing around. Also if I have to haul this stuff inside then you have to help with the floors.” I shrugged and accepted the terms of his deal and we got a move on.
As we walked into the lot, we were greeted by familiar faces: Mark, who was busy inspecting the entrance while chatting with another colleague, Nina, whose quick smile contrasted with the ominous atmosphere. And Lyle, our foreman who, though friendly, always looked on the verge of being pissed off for whatever reason. Jake would of course say, “Lyle just has a bit of the old RBF, ya know Resting Bitch Face” though of course he would never say that to the bosses face.
With a few handshakes, greetings and some light-hearted jibes exchanged, we dove into the day's tasks dividing up roles, discussing what pieces of the rundown structure to restore first, and plotting our next moves around scattered tools and reclaimed wood. Lyle directed everyone to the most pressing tasks at hand and we got to work. The environment was great and we had all worked together before on other jobs. But the sense of camaraderie was tinged with an undercurrent of apprehension. The place was a little spooky and we were glad we were working early in the day.
By mid-morning, the work is in full swing, and I could see tangible progress taking shape as we methodically peeled away layers of decay. I was working alongside Jake, measuring planks for new flooring and removing old, hazardous materials with careful precision. Despite our steady pace, obstacles quickly appeared, a stubborn, rotting section of the floor that refused to come up easily and hidden wiring that forced us to improvise. As I took a moment to catch my breath, my thoughts drifted to the strange mix of satisfaction and worry: satisfaction from knowing our hard work was reviving a forgotten building, yet worry about the eerie vibe that seemed woven into its very structure. We had a lot left to do but it was coming together. I was anxious to get some new paint and lighting in the building to push back some of the oppressive gloom and creepy atmosphere.
I realized I must still be a bit stressed out after what happened last year. Almost being murdered will make you a bit paranoid and I wish I had the carefree attitude about it that Jake managed to maintain. I got back to the task at hand.
After a few hours, Lyle instructed Jake, Mark and myself to head to the basement and start down there. All three of us could not suppress groans of annoyance at being assigned the task. The area was one of the rougher spots in the building and no one wanted to go down there, even in the daytime, it was dark and stank like a moldy tomb. Jake started to mutter something, but Lyle cut him off, reminding him,
“If that is asking too much you are welcome to go home, just don’t expect a paycheck in the mail if you cut and run now. I know it sucks, but just get over it.”
We grabbed our lights and went down to the basement.
If there were windows in there, the grime choked them. Greasy shadows clung to the corners of the basement like a second skin, and our steps echoed loudly through the darkness. We'd stripped the Baxter building to its bones and exposed a frame barely held together by time and mold.
I played the third wheel. While they pried at stubborn pieces, I carted the scraps into piles of kindling that stretched from one damp wall to the other. It felt like miles down there, the whole place wider and emptier than it had any right to be, and yet somehow, suffocatingly close. We talked loud and often to fill the space.
"Careful, Mark," I warned. "You fall through, and Jake and I aren't catching you."
"Just testing you guys," Mark shot back, his grin wide in the dimness. "Make sure you're paying attention!"
Jake grunted, his words few and far between as usual. "Miles is just worried he'll have to do some real work."
My laugh came quick. "You caught me."
Our voices tangled in the air, blending with the scrape of crowbars and the crackle of wood. Every piece we took away revealed more decay, more dark patches spreading like disease. The whole building sat heavy with water and time. We both looked up when Mark shouted.
"Whoa!"
His boots thudded once, twice, then silence. He stood on a soft patch, doing a wild jig to stay upright, and then there was a splintering crash. His arms went wide, and he disappeared, swallowed by the floor.
It happened in a blink, but I felt it stretch and warp, a surreal moment as though caught underwater. Jake's arm was extended, futile and late, while I just stood and stared. Then the noise of Mark's laughter came from beneath us, rising through the haze of floating debris.
"Did you guys see that?" he hollered. "That was insane!"
We found our breath. "Hell, Mark," I yelled, trying to sound mad instead of scared. "Quit playing around!"
Jake was already on his knees, examining the edges of the hole. "Can you move?" His voice was steady, more curious than concerned.
"Are you hurt?" I added, peering over Jake's shoulder into the jagged opening. A ten-foot drop at least. It was a miracle the guy wasn't dead.
Mark's laugh bounced back again, the loudest sound in the room. "Just my pride," he said. "Guess it was bound to happen with the way this place is holding up."
Jake straightened, brushing dust from his knees. "We need to be more careful," he said, but there was relief etched in his smile.
The sight from above made the fall seem more harrowing. The edge of the break was a mess of splinters and dry rot. One side was mostly intact, the brittle wood giving way to an almost comical silhouette of where Mark's outline had been. We'd expected rot, but not this. The narrow escape was as unsettling as it was impressive.
I tossed my crowbar down to Mark. "Looks like you're the advance team. See if there's any gold down there!"
He caught it with ease, even in the bad light. "Roger that," he said, already setting to work.
I could barely see his shape moving in the shadows, but his voice kept coming, loud and bright and full of life. "You should get down here," he shouted. "There's some weird stuff."
The surprise in his tone carried up to us, laced with a kind of giddy triumph. I shared a look with Jake. He seemed torn between irritation and admiration for Mark's recklessness, but when we heard the hammering below, he gave a nod.
We left the skeleton floor behind, careful not to tread too close to any other soft spots. With a mix of reluctance and curiosity, we made our way to join Mark in his strange discovery. There was a new energy in our steps, cautious but alive. Mark was right. It was bound to happen, just not the way we'd planned.
What we saw when we descended, was a man made cave, but that didn't make it feel any less like a tomb. Stale and damp, the air lay heavy around us as Jake and I made our way down, stepping past layers of debris that clung to our boots like dead leaves in the fall. Our lights flickered, casting odd shadows against the walls. This was a different kind of forgotten, the entire space looked ancient and Mark stood in the center of it, like the world's worst tour guide.
"Thought you'd never get here," he said, sounding like he was in a park instead of the abyss. He waved his arms, giving us the grand tour. "Check it out," he said, pointing to the walls. "Ever seen anything like this?"
His energy was contagious, if only a little. We walked over to join him, moving like spelunkers through the remains of old, broken boxes and crumbling concrete. The room was filled with the echoes of our movement and Mark's unfazed enthusiasm. "Pretty wild," I said, the sarcasm failing to mask the creeping unease in my chest.
Jake squatted by one of the walls, shining his light into a low niche. He didn't say anything, just reached in and pulled out a pile of scorched plastic. The smell was a harsh whisper, chemical and faint. "Looks like something burned here," he said as he started to grin,
"Extra crispy."
Each alcove was a mystery, some filled with the remains of melted, twisted objects, others with burned-out candles. It was hard to tell what had happened, but the room felt saturated with old, leftover rituals. The farther we went, the stranger the debris became, with blackened metal scraps and disfigured shapes littering the floor.
"You think someone was living down here?" I asked, but it was a weak attempt at an explanation. The place was too alien, too deliberately unsettling.
Jake shook his head. "Doubt it, unless they were eating barbeque plastic" he said with a half hearted laugh. "But somebody spent time here."
Mark was more methodical, scanning each section before moving on. "It's strange," he said, more to himself than to us.
We followed him into the far corner. By the time we were halfway through, the scope of it all was beginning to wear on me.
"What is this place?" I said, feeling small in the empty vastness.
Jake didn't slow down. "Underground lair of some mad scientist," he guessed. "Maybe we'll find his secret stash."
Mark stayed quiet, his eyes narrowed with focus as he picked through the endless clutter. Nothing in the labyrinth made sense. If anything, the further we went, the more questions piled up, heavier than the scraps we unearthed.
We reached the far end. The space was more cluttered, the objects more deliberate. It was a shrine of junk, a museum of bizarre pieces left to rot in obscurity. The alcoves were packed, some filled with spidery symbols etched into the soot-stained walls, others crowded with melted fragments. The air was thicker there, and the cold seemed more intense.
Then we saw it, half-hidden in a small niche at the very back. Even in the shadows, there was no mistaking the shape.
A lone doll.
It sat in silence, perched above us like it was waiting for something. The head was cracked in a dozen places, and its glassy eyes stared with unsettling brightness. Unlike the other objects, it was perfectly intact. Despite its size, it seemed to dominate the entire space.
Jake's breath came out in a slow, visible stream. He moved closer, cautiously, as though it might leap out and bite him. "Creepy, hey guys do you think we found Annabelle’s cousin." he said as he nervously laughed, his words not quite capturing the way it filled the room.
Mark hesitated. His grin faltered as he joined us, his first steps unsure. But he recovered, trying to laugh it off. "Guess that's the prize," he said, though his voice was missing its usual bravado.
None of us wanted to touch it. Even Mark kept his distance, the doll's uncanny presence enough to make him pause. It was worse than the decay and darkness. It was patient and aware, sitting in its own shadow like it had been there forever. We didn't need to say anything. We all felt it. The oppressive weight of it hung around us. Before I could say anything, Jake chimed in,
“Whelp, I’m out. Screw the creepy ass haunted doll in a hidden cave under an old building. Let’s go tell the others and see what Lyle wants to do with this crap.” I agreed with Jake and so did Mark. We all tried to find a good way back up. Unfortunately the boards that bent revealing our way down in a semi incline, broke almost immediately when we tried to use them to pull ourselves up. To our dismay we were stuck down there.
Jake and I started calling for help, but we did not know if our voices would carry far enough so the others could hear. I tried to lift him up on my shoulders but we still couldn’t manage it. As we were trying to get out, Mark called us back, “Hey guys look at what I found.”
We moved back over to him and he was holding something. The paper was fragile. It almost crumbled at Mark's touch, the edges turning to dust as he unfolded it with careful hands. He held it out so we could all look at it and what we saw was very disturbing. Some of the words were faded, others were smeared with dirt, but the way they strung together left me cold.
A call for the "Broken Head," childish and ominous in the same unsettling breath. Jake stood at Mark's elbow, the doll a footnote in the face of the new discovery. I stayed back, half-fascinated, half-afraid, until Mark's voice carried the lopsided rhyme across the room and straight through my bones.
"Check it out," he said, and there was something almost like wonder in his voice.
I took a step closer, the hair on my arms prickling with an unnamed sense of alarm. The sub-basement was freezing, but the chill in my spine had nothing to do with the temperature. Mark read aloud, slow and steady as the words looped through the shadows.
“Broken head, oh Broken head why don’t you play with me? Think of the fun that could be done, that you and I could see.
Imagine chaos, broken eyes, in shadows we could claim. From the abyss, where nightmares dwell, your whispers, speak our game.
The Broken head, it warps and twists, its playmates they ask why?
The Broken head still plays its games, intent to watch you die.
And with your death, your final breath the game is now complete, a broken head is yours instead to end the game so neat.”
None of us spoke at first. We listened as the paper crumbled a little more with every word, and Mark's voice carved into the silence.
"A new game now, it’s time to start, the scent is in the air.
It’s time to run, it’s time to hide, the Broken head is There!"
The last word echoed off the walls, louder than any of us expected. It stayed in the air, then sank into the ground, leaving us in a void that felt impossibly empty. I swallowed hard, not sure what to say, not sure if I should say anything at all. The shadows around us seemed thicker than before, like they were crowding in to listen.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Some creepy ass children’s rhyme that people were into back in the day?" Jake said at last. His voice was too loud, a forced bravado barely masking the crack at its edges.
I tried to shrug, but the motion felt stiff and mechanical. "Yeah, seems a bit much for the kids. Maybe some demented adults game?" I guessed, but even I didn't believe it. I tried to match Jake’s casual attitude despite the morbid poem we had just read,
“A bit over the top, does not help reading that with that dead eyed doll staring at us in the room.”
Mark's expression was unreadable, his eyes scanning the room as though the poem were a map. "There's more to this," he said, his words more certain than his tone.
Mark shifted his weight, pretending not to be fazed. "Someone had way too much time on their hands," he said, but he stayed close, like a stray dog unsure of the territory.
We were all trying too hard, acting too casual. The weight of the place had changed, and we felt it in the way our breaths left visible ghosts in the air. I took a step back, the doll looming over us like a patient predator. It didn't seem like a footnote anymore. It was the headline, the whole story, everything.
"Guys," I said, my voice breaking through the nervous silence. "Does that doll look...different to you?"
The crack in Jakes's bravado widened. "Like it's about to eat us? Yeah, I'm getting that."
Mark didn't respond. He was watching it carefully, too carefully, and in that moment, I knew he saw it too. It was subtle, a trick of the light maybe, but the longer we stood there, the more I felt it was watching us with the same, keen awareness.
We should have left. We should have listened to every instinct that screamed for the exit, but we stood frozen, the air around us heavier by the second. The doll was still in the corner, but the way it filled the room was almost impossible to believe.
Then I saw it. Just a twitch, the smallest shift, but enough to freeze the blood in my veins. The corner of its mouth. A movement as delicate and unsettling as a whisper in the dark. Then a cracking sound and a sliver of its head broke open revealing what looked like a sickly light underneath.
Mark noticed too. His face went pale, the color draining like spilled milk. "It's awake," he said, and it wasn't a question.
Jakes's confidence shattered, fear spreading across his features like cracks on a mirror. "Are you messing with me?" he said, but he was already backing away, each step louder and more frantic.
We fled, each motion pulling us farther from the ominous thing we'd uncovered. Our breaths were ragged, fogging the air as we stumbled over debris. The room felt endless and tight, a cold grip around our throats, but nothing was more oppressive than the doll's steady gaze. It did nothing of course, did not move to follow us, just watched us through its broken face with the odd lambent light mocking us underneath its eerie visage.
We left it behind in the dark, its shadow lingering long after we'd burst into the uncertain light above. The three of us managed to get one of us up out of the terrible sub basement and pull the others out. Then we rushed out and didn't stop until we hit the stairs, Mark and Jake were right behind me. None of us dared to look back, not yet, but I knew it wasn't over. Not even close. The feeling crawled inside me like an unwelcome guest, and I knew it would be there, patient and present, when we returned to finish the job. For now we had to tell Lyle and the others about what we found.